[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=00aeef]Emanuel "Manny" Newman[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/163dc10b-061c-4aa2-bdaa-4c4f6cd4d02b.jpg[/img][/center][hr][hr]
[center][b]Location:[/b] Quarantine 
[b]Skills:[/b] N/A [/center]
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Thana had a lot to say about how things would work for those who stayed here. Since the first day Manny had been conflicted on how he felt about this place. In some ways, it was great because it was safe, secure, and was thriving to get better. In other ways, it reminded him of the early days when the military was protecting himself and the other refugees of the Jacksonville area. But when Thana had finished explaining everything, it all made sense. Things were not the same as before, nor were they in the early days either. 

There were several things that he didn't like to hear though. The first, they would be essentially starting over their adult lives until proven otherwise that they could work in other areas or openings became available. He was surprised that even though all the major stuff was fulfilled that there wasn't still a demand for more people in areas. Sure 300 was a lot, but only so much can be done with that number. But he was a dentist turned field medic. This place had no shortage of doctors, and he was in no shape to keep up with the soldiers in the field. Nor did he want or think he could be doing that kind of work anymore. He also worried that his age doing janitorial work. Though he wasn't against it, it was work that he had hoped to stop doing once he got into his field. He worried about his ability to work to get more then the minimal doing this kind of work as well. He wondered if he could get back into dentistry? Maybe make his living by creating a new position for high demand. Sure, this place had a full medical team, but there was always a need to clean teeth, or get them pulled when that time came.

The next thing that got him uneasy, no weapons for those not in specific positions. Manny knew, he wouldn't qualify for any of them. Not properly at least. Though he understood the reasoning, he had been apart of several communities that have fallen and the defense fell to those whoever could get their hands on a gun. Though Manny was limited in that regard too... He was still a decent shot with his shotgun. In the early days, when the refugee camp fell, the main reason he survived was because he was able to start blasting his way out. Though back then, he had a case filled with around two hundred 20 gauge shells. And after escaping he had less then forty. He trusted the ability for those here to protect CMB, but not having any ability to keep himself or those near him safe was... hard for him. It's not like he was still young and could just muscle his way past any foe using a blunt weapon or a pocket knife. Now... he was old, getting slow, and his endurance was struggling to do anything more then basics. 

The last one, he wouldn't be allowed to leave these walls other then to leave for good. At this point in his life, Manny had accepted the fact that he was getting old. It scared him a bit, but he was able to work with it so far. But he also knew he had only a few years at best before his quality of life started to deteriorate. Or worse... months. Once that happened, he highly doubted he would be able to leave on his own ability. At that point, he would either find himself never leaving these walls again, or... dead. If he chose to stay... he may never be able to see the world around him outside of these walls... ever again. His life would consist of whatever these walls had to offer. He thought about his life before things fell. How he would jog or walk for miles every day to keep up his physical shape, go to work in the A.M. then go to a shooting range in the P.M. then to go home in the night, all in different parts of the city. He loved being able to travel so much, even if just across town. Even the ability to walk in the woods or the streets of the former towns just for the sake of getting out would be nice.

He stopped himself. He had to stop and realize some things. The world is not the same. Every few decades it seems there is a major change of some kind. Some bigger then others. This one... meant that he lost many of his former freedoms in one way or another. He had lived a long and happy life, and he had seen the world outside of these walls. It was... barren. Peaceful, but barren. But, maybe he could retire... Something he told himself he never wanted to do, but that was before as well... Could he even retire here? Could he even handle retirement? Or could he find a field to keep himself occupied without burning himself out in his age?

The choice was hard for him... There was apart of him that wanted to turn in the paper blank. Then he would say his goodbyes, grab his gear, and maybe make his way back home. Maybe he could set up shop again, despite the lack of clients. Sure there were some people, but not a lot. Maybe he could go home again. He figured it would be nice to go back home, and spend the rest of his days there. Could he even make a trip like that now? If he found a car, maybe. But he wouldn't be able to clear any roads. On foot... maybe... but it could take months at his pace, especially carrying gear. That might be too close. But here? He sat looking at his contract to be. No required therapy. He figured as much. But he figured that he probably wouldn't to be able to tell if he did need it. Here, he could rebuild some semblance of his former life, the life he was happy in. If he went on his own, he might be able to go home, and try and keep the ghost of his past life alive. But... Things were not the same now. Maybe staying was the better option. Alexander was most likely going to stay, Thana as well. Beatrice and Thalia were wild cards to him. But if they left, he had trouble believing that they would travel with him other then to make sure he didn't get himself killed, and then become a burden on them. Or they may stay anyways. He scratched out his name on the paper. At least the first few letters he committed himself to writing before stopping. 

Manny eventually let out a quiet, yet deep sigh. He took the pen that was given, and signed his name. He would work his way through the probation period, and maybe he could try to rebuild some shell of his old life. Maybe build a better life for himself then before, even with his current restrictions. He handed the paper to Thana, signed, but in a slightly smaller font due to crossing out a partial signature on the same line. Maybe they would chalk it up to him not liking the way he signed his name, or maybe they would see his indecisiveness. Though, who would suspect a frail old man wanting to wander out on his own in the middle of all of this hell. He didn't say anything to Thana as he turned in the papers, just handed it in, and sat down waiting for whatever was to come next of the survivors.

[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=00a651]Private Hunter James Monroe[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/c08a6051-3ab9-4c98-87b6-05533c8b19e8.jpg[/img][/center][hr][hr]
[center][b]Location:[/b]  Quarantine
[b]Skills:[/b] N/A [/center]
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Hunter's day was interesting to say the least. He had been offered to learn how to make a sword, and if the place allowed, cool. Swords were cool in their own sense. Sure he liked guns more, but sometimes a pointy piece of metal was fun to mess with. He would have thanks Nigel before moving on with his day. But what really sealed the deal, was the woman with the scars on her face that showed that she had cheated death, then laughed in his face for trying to call her out on it. Or as Hunter first realized her to be, the first non guard to walk in with a gun. Meaning, she probably fit his other description pretty well. The info dump was pretty big, enough that Hunter struggled to follow along at times, but he got the basics of it well enough.

Soldiers and guards got guns, no one else without express permissions. Limited movement outside walls, fair enough. She explained the housing situations well enough, as well as the currency and personal property thing. It was not was he understood it to be from Nikki. So he could keep his shit, other then the guns and weapons. He found that a shame, but he would work to get them back. Though they were all pretty standard things other then his shotgun. Sawed off with slam fire. Old as dirt, but the function was cool. As long as he could get a new slam fire at some point he figured he would be fine. Though he would need to be in that position again anyways. They may not let him... That would suck. But otherwise, this place was... actually kind of interesting to Hunter. Rules seemed harsh, but at least he had a line to know not to cross. But same threats, bullets to the head. Usual stuff.

The contracts were handed out, he saw his. Therapy required. "[color=00a651]Fuck buckets...[/color]" He mumbled while reading it. Not realizing he mumbled out loud. Surely he wasn't bad enough to require therapy? Sure he had seen shit out here that scared him, but who hasn't? Surely he should fall lower priority to people that actually needed it? Plus, he wasn't some broken person who need to talk about his feelings to feel better. That emotional stuff was for weak people anyways. Sure he wasn't the strongest at times, but he wasn't weak enough to need this kind of help. Plus, it's only for crazy people... He wasn't crazy... "[color=00a651]No... I can't be...[/color]" Plus... he figured he didn't need help. He was fine... He wasn't crazy... He didn't need help... That was all that kept going through his head. 

Then he thought back to all those years ago... the first deployment. The day his Sergeant gave him the keys. 'Lock the doors, we've done all we can.' Those words, and the screams that followed prevented him from sleeping for weeks. There were hundreds of thousands in that building when they arrived... And he couldn't help but stop hearing the screams as the key turned in the lock. Watching the doors strain from the pounding on the other side, unsure if it was infected or other survivors... How many were still alive in there? He stopped to realize he was hyperventilating. Maybe... he did need help... 

Hunter struggled to write his name on the paper. Outside of a few choice moments over the years, he hasn't done a lot of writing and his hands were not use to it anymore. Plus... the idea of talking to a total stranger about his problems was... not an easy thought. He would go and see was it was like at least. What could hurt from that? Hunter walked from his spot and handed the badass scar lady the paper, visibly tense, but he had signed it before handing it in without saying a word. Then promptly rushed back to his seat to sit before he found himself over whelmed. Outside of his nightmares, he hadn't really thought back to those days. And he normally did what he could to ignore those nightmares once he woke. It wasn't hard when awake, sleeping was harder though... he was so out of control while sleeping.